


New Faces, Old Places

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Dom/sub, F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Subdrop, Subshock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: “What happened?”“It doesn’t matter. You said you were scared. I told you not to come back until I could fix that fear. Wanda’s not there. She can’t be there anymore.” Tony’s eyes burn as sentence after sentence falls from his lips, the words jagged, their rhythm broken glass. “Come back,” Tony demands, and he wants it to sound like it’s an order, because if not it’s a plea.Or: Tony's going into a delayed subshock, and he fulfilled his end of the agreement with Bruce Banner.





	1. In His Space

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Held](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192164) by [romanoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff). 



> Inspiration for this work is the Held series by Romanoff. Definitely recommend it.

Tony is in his space. He is somewhere in Africa, in one of the very poor parts that every American imagines makes up the majority of the place; it’s the one missionaries target. No one has come here looking for him yet, though. He’s doing what he normally does. Even after his space adventure, he is no more comfortable with being around Earth’s people than he was four and a half years ago. 

They let him stay in a large orphanage because he knows how to get the children to stop coughing, and he sometimes goes on less food if it’s dire enough. He’s good with the babies. They just want be held, and they want to be full, and Tony Stark is in the tiny dorm he shares with the two other men who work here. At some point, he knows enough of the dialect to pick up the fact that they were born and raised here; they do not want to leave.

Bruce sets his doctor’s bag down on the bed, warily eyeing his old friend. He looks thin and haggard, like he’s trying not to crumble. He has a black eye half hidden by deep, purpling bags.

“Tony.”

“It’s done. Over with. Wanda’s gone. Ross is gone. They’re all gone.”

“What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. You said you were scared. I told you not to come back until I could fix that fear. Wanda’s not there. She can’t be there anymore.” Tony’s eyes burn as sentence after sentence falls from his lips, the words jagged, their rhythm broken glass. “Come back.”

_ Hurt _ , Hulk grumbles from the back of his head. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all. Neither does Bruce. 

“Come back,” Tony demands, and he wants it to sound like it’s an order, because if not it’s a plea. Bruce shuffles forward, and one of his hands catch Tony’s. Both are dry and calloused, and both are too thin. “You have a beard,” Tony notices absently before he yanks his hand out of Bruce’s. 

That’s what tips Bruce off. That little, innocuous movement. It could have been anything, really; it could have been surprise or dislike or a need for distance that made Tony remove his hand. The problem is, though, that Bruce had spent a lot of time living and working out of Stark Tower (he had the patents for four different vaccine/vaccine affiliated products from the sheer, uninterrupted opportunity to work on a solution). In between all that, he had, out of anticipation that he would need to know one day, read Tony’s complete medical history. 

Spent time with Tony.

Got to know Tony. 

Understood Tony’s habit of putting off his medical needs for as long as possible to get a much done as possible before breaking to deal with it. The habit had never been too prolific before Afghanistan, of course; before then, his delayed response time to trauma was a well-documented but also mostly forgotten habit. Except that, after he’d been kidnapped, he had a physical and mental need to stay on his feet as long as possible. After he’d gone into subshock for almost an entire month after Obadiah's death, he was diagnosed with Delayed Subshock Syndrome.

Bruce would bet both balls that he’s looking at a man near full blown DSS subshock.

“Don’t try and act like you’re gonna fix some shit if you aren’t going to stay,” he all but snarls out. Bruce turns to his bag and digs out the water bottle the last group of missionaries left him. It’s half full. He holds it out wordlessly. At first Tony stumbles back a step, calves hitting the edge of one of the boys’ cots. He nearly over balances.

“Don’t. Don’t be an ass like that.”

“Just drink the fucking water, Tony,” Bruce says as he sets it down on top of the thin blanket folded at the foot of the cot.

“Are you coming or not?” he barks, shifting on his feet. 

“What happened, Tony?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does,” he says, and his voice gentles as Tony gives him this look like he’s trying to figure out what Bruce wants. It makes him a little sick because Tony has never had to figure out what Bruce wants. It’s always been easy to him.

“What do you want? Money? You want relief efforts? I’ll put it on SI’s maps. I’ll move Candyland to the Compound if you want to stay there. I’ll make it like she was never there.”

“Tony, Tony, calm down, I’ll go. You don’t look well. Can you sit down? Not there- that’s not mine- yes, there you go.” Bruce murmurs as he finally gets Tony to rest for a moment. He retrieves the water bottle and gently pulls up the mouthpiece.

“Come on, now. Just a drink. I’ll go with you. I never wanted to leave.”

“Do you swear? You don’t have to,” Tony says, but it’s clear he needs Bruce to.

“I swear,” the doctor murmurs, “Rest here until tonight. I have duties I need to finish, but I always sleep here. When I tell them, I will have to leave, and then we can go wherever you like after that.” Tony’s fingers clutch at Bruce’s brightly colored button down, his eyes track over washed out, shapeless jeans and settle on bare feet.

“You’ll… you won’t bail.”

“On my life, I won’t.” Bruce nudges Tony down to lie out on the cot, the stains on his own polo and jeans becoming more evident, now that he is looking. The small window on the opposite wall doesn’t provide much light to see them by.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’m coming back. I just need to finish.” Bruce picks up his kit and walks out of his room. The door, he leaves open just a crack, so that Tony will be able to hear if there are comings and goings in their little hallway on the uppermost floor.

Bruce feels as though he is in a haze as he finishes with the littlest babies just before dinner time. When the head of the orphanage is alone in her little office that evening, and the children are soaking in the last of the sun, Bruce makes his quiet way to her door.

“I heard you had a visitor. He is not as well fed as one would think an american would be. Especially a visiting one,” she says in french. Bruce’s Kirundi is getting better, but he’s still learning the most basic of phrases.

“He is heartsick. We parted because I was in danger, and he shielded me from it. I believe it is time to go back with him.” The matron, Emelyn, does not seem surprised at Bruce’s statement.

“You did not seem like the sort to stay when I met you; I am merely thankful you taught our lads and some of our women your trade,” she says after a moment. Bruce inclines his head in acknowledgement. 

“I will leave my kit.”

“The men say he has strange dreams. They heard him cry out.” She says this almost kindly. Somehow, Bruce thinks she must have known how dangerous Bruce could be since the beginning, even if Bruce was another sub like herself. Bruce nods.

“Best fortunes to you, then, and your heartsick friend.”

 

…

 

The little hotel Tony brings Bruce to is too far away for any from the orphanage to be aware of it, and they reach it just before sundown. Sequestered away for the time being, Bruce gets his first really good measure of just how… hurt Tony is. He opens his mouth, but a look from the genius has him shutting it again. When Tony is ready, he will tell. But first, he’s going to go down so hard he won’t remember the time or date, which can be problematic.

As much as Bruce wants to theorize on how to make this any easier, he shoves the thoughts aside. First and foremost, the man needs to eat, and then they need to leave.

 

…

 

The plane ride is as stressful as they always are, and Bruce spends nearly the entire day fretting over the state of his friend. Tony works most of the time, but periodically, he stares at Bruce, like he’s sure the other man will disappear. 

Doesn’t surprise Bruce, really. He did disappear, first because of Wanda, and then because aliens. So he sits close to Tony and occasionally tries to get him to eat something and lets him do all the random staring he wants. They don’t touch, because if Tony goes into shock too soon, Bruce has no resources with which to get him to a safe place, nor would he be listened to if he told them not to get a hospital dom.

Tony is unsurprisingly needy once they get through the elevator doors, and after so long of only doctoring, only setting other people to rights and moving on, and before that, being among enemies and maybe-friends but never family, Bruce is too. They are both subs, after all, and Bruce thinks he might be going into a delayed drop of his own, after this. 

Tony’s bathroom has a lot of space, so Bruce sits outside the little alcove that separates the shower from the rest of the room and waits for him to finish.

“Bruce?” Tony calls out, just once in the five minutes he’s willing to stand under the spray and quickly soap himself and his hair.

“I’m here.”

“Oh.” Bruce asks himself why he’s being so shy. When Tony was injured and needed help, the only person he trusted was Bruce. Sometimes Rhodey too, but Rhodey was often away for the airforce. Even outside of Tony, the sub showers at SHIELD were not private affairs, and neither was the locker room some floors below them.

“Have you washed your back?”

“No.”

“Do you want help?” There is a lingering silence, filled and not filled enough by the sound of beating water.

“Yes.” So Bruce stands up. He knows why he’s gone shy. Knew as soon as he had the thought. Being one with the Hulk did not make denial easy. It must remain a river in Egypt. Bruce is more or less afraid of what this will mean after the shock is over. He shucks off his dusty shirt and opens the shower door. Tony just looks at him.

When they had started their heyday as part of the Avengers, Tony was known to be as manicured as possible, as often as possible, which is how anyone really noticed that he wore lifts in his shoes. The first time he had stumbled down to their floor, looking for interaction after a week of board meetings and such and a long eighteen hour sleep to reset his internal clock, he had been shorter.

That height difference stands out now, as Tony is only an inch taller than Bruce. He looks absolutely miserable, with all those red, angry scars across his chest that have only been seen once or twice and his eyes too big and watery to just be his normal look. So Bruce goes gently; they are close enough to safety that they needn’t wait any longer. Thick fingertips glide over Tony’s forehead and weave into his hair.

Strong arms hug Tony against Bruce’s chest, first. It drags out a shuddering breath as Tony both tenses and relaxes in rapid order. Bruce reaches up and angles the water away from them both. He puts plenty of soap on a loofah and rubs it into a froth before gently going over every inch of his skin with just enough pressure to feel good. Tony starts to lose even more of his faculties, a whine slipping out of his throat and his eyes closing.

He skips Tony’s privates and lets him do that himself. It is too easy to make this sexual, and Tony is already too far gone to consent. After he rinses off, he pulls down the seat in the shower and has Tony sit so that he can wash his hair. He takes his time and squirts out too much shampoo so that the froth is thicker and more satisfying. He starts from the crown of Tony’s head and makes his way both forwards and back, and down the sides, just gently scratching the whole way. By the time he rinses, Tony is tilting his head to get Bruce to go for certain spots and humming in the back of his throat. He’s sinking. 

“Friday?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner?”

“Put the kettle on?”

“Yes sir.” Bruce hands Tony a towel to dry, a dressing gown to wear, then herds him out to the sinfully comfortable armchair and thick comforter in his living room.

“Sit here, drink some cocoa. Nothing else, okay? I’m just gonna take a shower.”

“Okay.” Tony says. He seems at least sort of sure that Bruce won’t bail, so he’s gone pliant, now that his friend is back. Bruce doesn’t take long in the shower; if Tony is right there on the cusp of a drop that is going to turn into shock, he’s going to need to be done before Tony runs out of the distraction that is his warm mug.

“Friday, please inform Miss Potts of the situation, as well as his Primary Care Physician and… uhm… get me a drop kit and a shock kit.”

“Yes, sir. On it sir.” For just a moment, Bruce allows himself to drown in the hatred he feels for whoever and whatever thought that it was acceptable to do this to the man. But then he swallows it back. Tony is gay as hell and mistrustful besides. He doesn't need a dom. He needs a sub he knows to take him under; Bruce needs to be Bruce, not the Hulk. He promises reparations to both himself and his alter ego before he opens the door, walks through it, and weaves his hand into Tony’s hair.

“Are you ready?” Tony just leans into his palm, the cocoa almost gone, and closes his tired, gritty eyes.


	2. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Clint watch a TV program and come to a few less conclusions than they'd had at the beginning of all this mess.

Sam… Sam likes to think he knows how to pick his friends; knows who’s worth knowing and who’s worth knowing intimately. Over the years, he’s avoided more than a few painful experiences by trusting his gut. This is why, sitting on the couch in their villa in Wakanda, his stomach walks right up to the cliff and fucking BASE jumps off with no parachute.

The only TV on the premises is constantly turned to the news so that the Exvengers (when did Sam adopt that name?) could keep up with their wayward counterparts and the world at large. Next to him is Clint, who has taken to flicking a butterfly knife around his fingers like he’s just trying to cut himself. In the chair is Wanda, who still isn’t completely back to the young girl with an ever growing, if still painfully low, sense of self esteem. She’s been different since the RAFT

The Widow, apparently a natural night owl, is asleep, and Steve is out for his run. Since they can’t actually leave their quarters for the greenery outside until eight, he’s had to begun leaving three hours later than he did in New York. Scott is somewhere. He’s always somewhere, and Sam can’t be assed to find out where, this time around.

The reporter, Anita Hayes, is an older woman, whose age and fairly subtle makeup has given her a sense of regalty, rather than the fading glory most people can’t help but take on after forty or so. She’s biracial, Indian and black and white or something, with a smattering of freckles and deep, soulful brown eyes, so the purple lipstick is a subtler statement than it would be on most. She’s sitting at a table with a handful of other stylish and understated people.

“An update on the Sabbatical story we talked about last week, it’s been confirmed that billionaire and superhero Tony Stark did indeed go into delayed subshock, as was speculated when he first disappeared. A statement from CEO of Stark Industries Miss Virginia Potts was released minutes ago informing us that Mr. Stark did locate someone to help him through it and that, while the flair-up of his longtime DSS is not good for his already compromised heart, he should come out of it unharmed, but tired. What do you all think about that?”

“I think that anyone who willingly hurt Mr. Stark in such a way as to contribute to his DSS is not a hero,” says a blond gentleman with a thin mouth and a disarming attitude. Sam has seen him on and off; he’s some sort of psychologist and an Iron Man fan. William Haverick is his name.

“Okay, but the Avengers have been gone for months,” says a pale woman with shiny black hair as straight as a board and cut in a sharp, almost menacing bob, “so they couldn’t have started this. He legitimately just won in court against former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross.” Sam has never seen this one before, but the name plate in front of her reads Patricia Lewis.

“As true as that is, DSS isn’t triggered by stress; it’s triggered when the sub in question does not feel safe enough at the time they would need to normally drop or any time after it that their body just refuses to do so. If all that was there stress-wise was Dr. Stark’s campaign against Secretary Ross, then he should have been dropping and coming back up at a greater frequency; as often as five times a week or as few as one, in fact.”

“In the Avenger’s heyday, it was obvious that Captain America and Iron Man didn’t get along; I still don’t think that the former’s dissertion had something to do with this.”

“They didn’t get along, but they worked together. Lived together. Likely had friendly moments amidst all the arguments together. Whether they were friends or frienemies, they sure as hell were allies on the field. To trust a man with your life only to have him run off because of his stubbornness is no light thing in the emotional mind of anyone, let alone a sub with not many people who can relate to him. Especially given Dr. Stark’s history,” Hayes cuts in. William inclines his head towards Anita.

“Ditto. In fact it’s well documented that Mr. Stark’s tendency to have DSS flairups did not increase in strength until the death of Obadiah Stane. It’s clear that Dr. Stark saw this all as a betrayal and instead of withdrawing from the public eye to take care of himself, as his supporters wish he would, he instead elected to continue to do what he was doing before the Rogues realized that their days of trampling over sovereign borders were numbered,” he says with some passion in his voice.

“So he does it now? After getting his ally incarcerated?”

“As we’ve learned from the court case, former Secretary Ross was prolific in his illegal human experimentation and disregard for human rights, as seen in the case of Dr. Bruce Banner,” Anita inserts, “and working with a man who had terrorized his friend for years must have been difficult and grating to say the least. When the Civil War settled, and proof of Ross’ continued maltreatment of human beings came to the fore, it presented Dr. Stark with the best opportunity he had to rid the superhumans- and even regular humans, really- of the threat of Ross, and therefore lend more legitimacy to the Accords themself.”

“Okay but Ross wasn’t all that powerful, right? I mean, he was a major player on the American side of things, but that was one of a hundred and seventeen sides, and he didn’t even actually sit in a chair on the Accords counsel. He just worked in the background,” Patricia defends.

“Ross _has_ been working in the background; that is, arguably, what makes him the most dangerous,” William puts in. “People tend not to notice what he’s doing because he’s not the very top. Not the most visible, and therefore forgettable, if you will.”

“If Ross was all that bad, why did Dr. Stark wait until the Accords were in full swing and in their revising process to pursue him? Why wouldn’t he go after him during the Avengers’ Golden Years?” Patricia questions. Sam is beginning to wonder if she’s actually on the Rogue’s side or if she’s just playing devil’s advocate.

“Before SHIELD fell? When some of the people on the team were SHIELD agents and therefore reporting back, as per instructions? Because the military loved Ross, then, and they were leary of the Avengers and their backers, and they hated Tony Stark for his refusal to give up the Iron Man suits or to build weapons or to lift the restrictions on the use of War Machine? The Avengers were in their Golden Years, but Tony Stark was not,” William pauses to take a drink of his water. “But the aftermath of Civil War made it easy to see that Ross was very far out of line, causing the Military to distance themselves as much as possible and leaving the way the chips would fall to Tony and Ross, exclusively,” Anita explains.

“Okay, but that doesn’t really explain whether or not the Avenger’s departure to parts unknown is what led to this particular bout of DSS. We already know he’s highly prone to it. It could have been anything, given how busy Stark is,” Patricia says.

“The timeline is pretty tight and kind of convoluted, but I think I know when most of the events take place. We can arguably begin looking at events from two years prior,” William interjects, “Ultron happens, and Bruce Banner leaves, likely to avoid Ross, now that we know what he’s been up to all these years. Tony Stark begins a marathon of court and public appearances to explain himself and Dr. Banner and relief work in Sokovia and Johannesburg to try and… not mitigate, but help with the damage as much as possible.

“At the same time, Wanda Maximoff, who is a public enemy in Sokovia, by the way, is brought onto the team. There’s no telling what Dr. Stark thought of that, but it probably wasn’t approved of by him, given that his testimony included a nightmarish vision she gave him. But the Avengers are still evidently moving as a team, because even as Stark is quitting the Avengers gig, he’s having the Compound built and acquiring a work visa so that Maximoff is here legally. We don’t know what happens during the next year or so, but it’s clear that Avenger’s missions very rarely include Iron Man, and he never fights with Maximoff on his side.

“So Banner is gone, Stark has put his mental health issues on display for the world to see to explain Ultron and get some leeway to do damage control, and what we can reliably assume is still at least sort of his enemy has taken his place on the team, along with the Synthezoid Vision, who he helped create. Right after the visa goes through, he goes dark for about two weeks. That is the longest time no one’s seen physical evidence of his existence, so we can safely assume that he drops right there.

“Remember: he’s taken a giant step back from the Avengers, and he’s more involved with his company. So he hears word about this piece of legislation sometime after those two weeks, or maybe he knew about it before. It’s supposed to set up a chain of responsibility. He says ‘ya know what? Yeah. Let’s do that’. So he gets on board, or maybe just more involved, with the Sokovia Accords. That doesn’t make much of a splash on the american side of things. It isn’t a sex scandal, so it’s kind of boring. It’s safe to assume the Avengers don’t notice, either.

“But then: there’s this report that comes through. One of Dr. Stark’s jets showed up in Lagos. There is security camera footage of a street fight between an unknown assailant and the Avengers, minus the Vision. It goes horribly wrong; Lagos citizens are dead. Suddenly, Stark realizes that the Avengers are less stable than he thought.

“Time, as always, is of the essence, so he does what he does best and goes into damage control mode. If he can get a show of faith and an acknowledgement of responsibility from the Avengers, he can spin this whatever way he wants. He’s got a small amount of time, and he can’t afford Wanda being out on the streets and risking another incident, so he has her stay inside. He tries to get Steve to sign, but it doesn’t work. We’ve seen the videos of that; we know Steve wasn’t being overly rational about things either. He compares the cushy Compound and all the company that can make the time to internment and walks off.

“Then, before Dr. Stark can take another shot with Steve or with anyone else, the UN gets bombed. The main man behind the Accords and one of the last kings in the world dies in it. The culprit? Bucky Barnes. Decorated war hero. Died falling off the train. At this point, everyone is, and excuse my french, losing their fucking minds. Bucky this, Bucky that. The one document that might help the man? Pushed to the backburner. Steve runs off to find his friend. Goes right where that tip comes in at. Someone wisens up.

“They just follow the good, obviously dressed, Captain, who make no attempts at subtlety. But wait! There’s more. Captain America takes his star-spangled panicking self to some little apartment in Bucharest. An apartment surrounded by other apartments with normal Romanian citizens. So they gotta call in special forces. Except the Captain? Does not care about the average SWAT guy or their global equivalents. We saw that in Lagos. Now we got guys fighting, we got cinder blocks and battering rams and a metal arm going to people’s chests.

“They go to run. Situation is still salvageable. Terrible, of course, but salvageable. Security cameras could have place Sgt. Barnes in Bucharest at the time of the bombing. He wasn’t hiding, after all; just blending in. So all they really need to do is get out of there. But that doesn’t happen. Why? Because the late king’s son has a bit of bloodlust in him, and he makes the situation worse. Collapses a bridge with people on it. Crashes cars. Throws a guy off his bike. So we got three guys, causing a whole lot of damage.

“Where is Stark at this time? At the UN, doing damage control. The transcripts of his conversations were released to the public after the fact. If you’ve read them through, you know that he is desperately trying to hang on. Trying to salvage the situation. Trying to make it work. He almost does it, except the psychologist meant to examine Barnes is dead and the guy who replaces him sets him off.

“Terrible, isn’t it? How that works. The Captain won’t sign the Accords, not even to absolve his friend of literally blowing a bridge up. From there, it just gets worse. They’re acting erratic. No one knows what’s happening. At the same time, Ross is breathing down Dr. Stark’s neck. He’s taken an inflammatory role; shortening timeframes, making it difficult to get anything done. But Dr. Stark is still working on everything. They go to Leipzig, and wind up fighting because not only did Stark call in reinforcements, but so did Captain America.

“Stark’s jet is stolen. His best friend is paralyzed, and he is betrayed. He goes not to where the arrested Avengers were supposed to be held at, but to a prison that Ross runs. He had black bagged the Avengers. All we know after that is that Stark went to Siberia, ostensibly to either talk the Rogues down one more time or assist with defense against the other Winter Soldiers. We know he’s injured. We know he gets back out there in a matter of days.

“After that, there’s the case against Ross, which Stark was present and accounted for. With no one around him to take him down regularly, it is safe to assume that Dr. Stark has possibly not been down since his last flairup of DSS.”

“That’s very unhealthy,” says Patricia.

“What choice did he have? His friends are his enemies, his enemies are his friends, he’s separated himself from Miss Potts to try and preserve their working relationship… and his only friend is still in hiding after Johannesburg. We still don’t know what set him off then, either, but I’d put money on it being Maximoff’s fault,” William says.

“So what happens now?”

“We hope that whoever Dr. Stark has found to help him through the DSS stays around long enough for him to get steady again.”

“We still don’t know what happened in Siberia,” Patricia muses. She is definitely a devil’s advocate, and not a true Cap fan.

“We know he was left there in a dead suit due to a fight he apparently started, but I seriously doubt Iron Man lost his mind when he’d literally been the only one to keep sane through the whole thing,” Anita answers. Sam had leaned closer to the TV. When the events were rehashed like that… in black and white, the utter stupidity of the whole endeavor seems blatantly obvious. Even though the talk show didn’t have the info about the kill order, it’s hard to justify the entire thing.

“You know what?” Sam asks.

“What?” Clint answers.

“We don’t really know what happened in Siberia either.” Clint shrugs one shoulder.

“You know I said some nasty shit to Stark aboard the raft. Had no idea that he didn’t have a part in that.” Sam looks at him.

“You seem less venomous now.” Clint gestures with his flickering switchblade.

“If Stark was really doing damage control the whole time, than we have missed huge chunks of information.” For the first time, the thought that Steve could be lying crosses Sam’s mind. As a dom, Steve has always naturally seemed like the leader; like the one to protect. Now though? Sam is wondering how much of that is the sub in Sam and how much is logic. Clint seems to have come to a similar conclusion.

“I think we need to have a chat,” he says. Distantly, Sam can hear the door open. Clint’s butterfly knife _snkts_ shut.


	3. The Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes through his delayed drop.

_ Subshock is an extended subdrop often brought on by trauma, specifically of a sexual or extremely violent nature. Delayed subshock is a condition in which the sub will either choose to and/or be unable to drop for an extended period of time.  _ Delayed subshock is so much worse, Bruce knows. Has known. Is learning. 

_ The first stage of any subshock is the haziness, the forgetting of most things like how to put on a pair of pants or where the bed is located. Extremely important things stay, as does whatever emotion the sub most often feels when considering a drop or their biology. _ So far, it’s a good stage, even with the constant anxiety. Tony has only been vaguely concerned about anything that pops up in his hormone-addled brain, which makes it easy to keep him all wrapped up and warm with a mug of hot chocolate and a thick comforter. 

Bruce sits with him, noting his mental state, and recording his findings for future use. 

_ The next stage is when the sub begins to fall deeper into their drop; they start forgetting dates, but they aren’t relaxed. Instead, they act like their dom is terrible; like everything they do has been and will be met with punishment.  _

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers. He’s stopped drinking his hot cocoa. Bruce pushes the rim of the cup a little closer to Tony’s mouth, hoping to keep him back in Stage 1 for just a few moments longer. It only gets uglier from here on out. 

“It’s okay, baby boy. Just drink your drink and we’ll figure it out.”

“But I’ve been bad,” Tony says, and Bruce goes ahead and pries the mug out from the depths of the fluffy comforter. 

“No, baby, you’ve been good. You’ve been wonderful. You’re so smart, Tony.”

“I’m never smart enough,” Tony says, eyes getting wider and the tears building up. Bruce hates this side of Tony. Hates how he loses so much control that he doesn’t even try to wic the extra moisture away with his hand or eyelids.

“No, baby, other  people are just too stupid. Come on. Up you get,” Bruce says as he unfolds Tony from his blanket and pulls him up by the hand.

“Don’t drown me.” He says it with such a striking amount of clarity in his voice that Bruce would be almost fooled… except he literally just told Bruce not to drown him.

“No, no, pretty boy, we’re not gonna go drown you, we’re just gonna get you to use the toilet, then we’re gonna go sleep,” Bruce murmurs, babbles, really. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“That’s not what Obie did.”  _ Stage 2 of subshock is marked by an inability to separate past partners from the present one. It’s possible for the sub in question to think they are months, sometimes years in the past in certain aspects, but in the present in others. This often results in the misattribution of behavior and sometimes the sub will believe that a past partner is there and will exhibit their old behaviors. _

“Well we won’t do it, okay? I have a whole day of cuddling planned, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Okay.”  _ If the illogic of the sub can be followed well enough, it’s possible to stave off panic. _ Tony’s chewing his lip, making a mess out of the skin to go with the big white sores he’s chewed on the inside of his mouth. He twists his fingers as Bruce leads him to the bathrooms and stands there with a hand on the small of his back.

“Use the bathroom, Tony.”  _ An order will often work to either move the sub in the direction he needs to go and/or to calm him down, given that uncertainty is rampant in Stage 2. _ Tony undoes his robe and pulls down his tanga (and leave it to Tony to have more than boxers and boxer briefs) to do his business. 

“Did I do it right?” he says as he finishes. Bruce gives him a soft smile.

“Of course, baby boy. You did wonderful.”

“But I never do it right.”

“You did today. Come on. It’s time to get in the bed.”  _ It may seem like a better strategy to ride out phase 2 with as little talking as possible, but the muddled state of the sub in question makes it easy for them to forget where they are or who they’re with, setting off panic attacks. _

“Tell me about your workshop.”

“They hate the workshop so much. They hate it because I’m a bad boy and I made a murderer and they would rather have a different sub than me,” Tony says into Bruce’s chest as soon as they’re under the covers.

“You’re a wonderful boy, and they don’t understand what they’re talking about,” Bruce says as he runs his hands through Tony’s hair. The other man’s eyes close as blunt fingers slide along his scalp.  _ Any insecurities or fears the sub has will come to the surface during this stage, and while reassurance may make the rest of the drop easier, doing so with any level of intensity may cause the sub to react as though you’ve hit them, or yelled at them. _

“I shouldn’t have been mean to you. I was so mean to you.”

“When were you mean?”

“When I made you come back to me. I know I’m supposed to wait but I’m selfish and that makes me bad.”

“Oh, baby, I should have come back as soon as I was back on earth. I ran from you. Didn’t tell you I was okay or anything, and that wasn’t what I should have done. You were good. You did everything perfectly. You’re perfect. You’re the greatest person I’ve ever met, and I want you to remember that,” Bruce says as he looks into Tony’s hazy eyes.

“I don’t feel perfect.”

“Then trust me to tell you that you are.”

“Why don’t they think I’m perfect? I tried to do what I was supposed to.”

“People love a scapegoat, baby boy, and after I left, there was no one else to blame.”

“That makes me bad.I should… I should… I don’t know what I should have done. I’m. I’m sorry I didn’t do it right and I’m a bad boy.”  _ A key difference between a drop and a shock is the sub’s inability to be reassured. Trying, however, can often stop stronger, more violent emotional reactions. _

“You’re a wonderful boy.”

“But they left.” And Tony look so sad, so near tears when he says that. 

“That makes them not wonderful people.”  _ To that end, avoid using words and, to a lesser extent, phrases likely to trigger a sub. Though the specifics will vary from person to person, the most common words are “no” and “bad”. If you use a trigger word, the sub will automatically associate it with themselves, and you may send the sub into Stage 3 early. _

“But I’m not wonderful people.”

“You’re perfect,” Bruce says with a soft smile.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not. I’m. I’m something. Not perfect. Not. Perfect. Not… like the rest.”  _ Stage 3 is marked by a loss of any kind of logic, no matter how convoluted, and is hallmarked by decreased ability to think and understand. The sub in question will often trip over their words or repeat phrases. _

“Oh, but you are wonderful and you’re worth staying with,” Bruce says and Tony starts shaking his head, curling into himself and breaking the position he and Bruce had just moments ago. He begins to shiver.

“Bad. So bad. So bad. So… terrible. Terrerererble. Not… not good. Bad. Horrible,” tears leak down Tony’s face as he curls up into a tighter ball that Bruce can’t break. The doctor sits up.  _ The second difference between a drop and a shock is that Stage 3, which is often the extent of a normal shock, is unavoidable. The behavior of the partner before and after, as well as the sub’s personal experiences, determines the duration. In addition to that, the behaviors a sub can exhibit atypical behaviors, such as bouts of violence and self-harm. This can be curbed by taking a dominant hold on the sub.  _

“Beautiful. Wonderful,” Bruce whispers as he slides his robe off his shoulders and tosses it towards the end of the bed. Slowly, he sets his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. He takes care to caress the skin there and persists through the shivering and the high whines. When Tony does not try to get away, he squeezes ever so gently. A full body shudder goes through Tony and he bucks. Hard. _ There is no telling how well the dominant hold will work. _

Bruce underestimates his strength and cannot keep Tony in the bed. The genius scrabbles off it and to the far wall, whining high in his throat the whole time. Somewhere in that process, he gets ahold of a switchblade. Bruce slides a little closer to him, hands up and out.

“Come on, Tony. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to sleep. Don’t you want to sleep?” Tony shakes his head and begins to cry again.  _ The chances of a dominant hold working the first time around are very high with subs that experience DSS as a result of unhealthy working habits and a lack of a permanent partner. Those who have experience with abuse are more likely to react violently, though that option is not impossible or even improbable for any sub in subshock. _

“Bad boys aren’t supposed to sleep… I’m something… bad. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID STUPID STUPID!” By this point, Bruce has gotten close enough that a lunge from Tony will gut him.  _ The sub believes every word they say during subshock, and, in the case of a violent Stage 3, it may be more damaging than anything to attempt to dissuade the sub, especially one who has been abused. _

“Wonderful. Wonderful, pretty baby.” Tony lunges at him, slicing the switchblade from left to right. Bruce jumps back. In the back of his skull, the Hulk snorts.  _ Puny man must try harder _ .  _ Shellhead have no sense _ . Bruce keeps his eyes on Tony’s chest, trying to predict where he’ll go. 

“I’m Bad!” Tony screams out as he lunges again. This time, the knife makes contact, and Bruce swallows down the burning pain as Hulk raises his head and assesses the situation. As it is, though, he seems content to watch the drama, as though he knows his presence won’t help this. “I’m bad,” Tony says again, quieter now that there’s red on Bruce’s stomach. The doctor has already clapped a hand over the wound.

_ The third difference between shock and drop is that, after the sub has turned violent in their confusion, they may need to be treated as though what they say is true. A pseudo punishment is often the only way to bring a sub who is too far gone down to any level of calm. Warning: the words that affirm a sub’s view are often taken as seriously as any sub can. As a result, this may confuse the sub later on if the pattern of bad behavior and punishment differentiates from those of previous partners. _

“Yes! You are. You’re very bad. Now kneel.” Tony drops to is knees and holds out a knife still slathered in Bruce’s blood. He’s frowning, whole lower jaw quivering almost as much as his body is. Bruce takes the knife from him and turns around to go to the bathroom. He waits a moment as his body puts itself back together and then washes the blood away. He ignores the brand new stain on his light yellow boxer shorts.

_ A pseudo punishment must mimic a genuine punishment, but should not be as severe. Most of the “punishment” should be verbal.  _

“You’ve been very bad,” Bruce says. He doesn’t put any inflection in his voice. Doesn’t let Tony know how the Hulk is trying to decide if he’s needed. Big, fat tears are already rolling down Tony’s cheeks, wetting his beard and dripping down from the lowest hairs.

“Very bad,” Tony sobs. Bruce walks over to stand at his side, just a foot away.

“Why are you being bad?”

“I don't know. I am bad. Very bad. Bad. Ba… bad,” Tony gets out around the giant lump in his throat and the one in his brain.

“I’m going to have to punish you,” Bruce says, and he sounds so disappointed to Tony, though he hasn’t really changed his voice at all.  _ If the partner has elected to take the “punishment” route, they will need to inform the sub as to their reasons. Even if the sub is incoherent, they will not respond as well if the partner does not come up with some reason why _ .

“I’m going to spank you because you hurt me. You shouldn’t hurt me,” Bruce says as he comes around in front of Tony and kneels. He takes Tony’s neck again, but the other man just lets his eyes fall shut. Bruce curses whoever made him more relaxed with pain and punishment than honest to goodness love.

“I’m bad. Terr… bad. Bad. badbadbad… ba...d.”

“Yes,” Bruce whispers, just barely confirming Tony’s belief as he reaches around with his other hand and taps a rhythm on Tony’s butt and moves up and down his back in an approximation of a spanking.  _ If the pseudo punishment has worked, the sub will likely become unable to hold their own weight. Guide the sub to lean or lay against you to lead them back into nonviolent shock. _

“Yes,” Tony murmurs. Bruce guides him forward a bit, taking the other man’s weight. He nuzzles into the hollow of Bruce’s neck. The staccato on Tony’s back is one they hardly hear. When he is sure he won’t have to do more to get Tony calm again. He slows his hand and presses it against long planes of skin that still smells like body wash.  _ Under no circumstances is the partner to break contact with the sub. _

“You took your punishment well, Tony. It’s time for a nap, now.” Bruce gets up first and, keeping a hand clamped around Tony’s neck, guides the other man to his feet and walks him gently over to the bed. Its slow and difficult to maintain his hold and get them both to the covers, but Bruce does.  _ At this point, the sub will be confused and subdued enough to be put to bed. If it is truly the end of Stage 3, the sub will begin again at Stage 1. The actual actions and words can vary from cycle to cycle, but the pattern must be held to get a sub through DSS subshock. _

“Sleep,” Bruce says as he guides Tony down to lay pressed chest to chest, “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

_ The only difference between subshock and delayed subshock is that these three phases will repeat at least three times in the latter, and happen only once in the former. DSS phases often have shorter durations, and the phases can change so fast that the partner is not prepared for it. It is common to expect at least one very difficult cycle in a DSS shock, along with milder ones. When the shock is over, it is imperative that the sub see their doctor as soon as possible to deal with any possible health ramifications. _

_ -A Guide to Submissives: Drop, Shock, and Delayed Subshock Syndrome, By Dr. Petunia Mort _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome and cherished! ;)


	4. Back to the Grind Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes back to himself and jumps right back into the fray. There is fluff, and children, and cussing throughout:)

“Oh, god,” Tony groans as he opens his eyes and realizes that he’s laying almost naked in bed with Bruce Banner.

“That’s Thor,” his friend murmurs as he runs a hand from the small of Tony’s waist to his ribcage. Instinctively, the inventor relaxes back against Bruce. The doctor pulls the blankets down enough for Tony to get his bearings.

“I don’t wanna hear about Thor.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

“Did I cut you? I remember a knife.”

“Yeah but it’s okay. The big guy was very unimpressed.” Tony raises his head and looks at Bruce.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You had a DSS episode.”

“It isn’t okay to cut you. I should have got the weapons out of the room before that.” Bruce sighs and threads his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Look, Tony, what’s done is done.” Tony rears back, eyes all dark and intense and still somehow sleepdrunk.

“No, it’s not, Bruce! The… um… that’s the problem! We keep doing shit like cutting each other and then being like ‘oh, it was an accident so it must not count’, or ‘oh, such and such got on my nerve, so it must be okay’. We keep doing that shit, and it’s not fair.” Tony’s earnest eyes bore into Bruce’s.

“Tony…”

“They dropped you out of the sky.”

“This isn’t about what happened during your shock, is it?” Bruce says even though it’s painfully obvious they’re talking about something much more important than a cut that was so low-threat to Bruce that the Hulk didn’t even, to quote Tony, giveashit.

“You know what the Odinson boys have in common? They like to choke me.”

“Tony, that was right as the Ultron thing was building speed-”

“And that’s exactly it, Bruce. I’m allowed to attack you character, Thor’s allowed to hold me up by the fucking neck, Steven doesn’t have to do anything about it, but he claims to be the leader. We just kept taking each other apart and no one was saying shit about it. You know what the reaction was when I finally realized what the fuck was up and quit? Nothing. Relief. They were glad to see me gone. As long as I funded them, they could care less. After all, there wasn’t anyone around to be, what’s the phrase? Hyperverbal.”

“What are you saying this for, Tony?”

“You came back, and you didn’t have to.”

“Yeah.”

“So, ostensibly, would you be down for another team?” Bruce claps a hand over his eyes and leans his head back. 

“Tony. The last one- and you’re right- but the last one was absolute shit.”

“Exactly! So we do it better,” Tony pushes in closer and lays his head an Bruce’s shoulder.

“We know what got fucked up. Unlimited power with limited or no responsibility. Not to each other, and not to ourselves. Sure as shit not to anyone else.”

“Okay. I mean, there was other stuff, but okay.”

“Of course there was other stuff. But that’s the big thing.”

“So what are you saying, you want to do it again?”

“Until we get it right.” Bruce runs his hand up over the swell of Tony’s shoulder.

“Why?”

“I told you. Giant army. Hole in space. Nothin’ but a half cocked idea about doing shit together. This isn’t the family olympics. We hold people’s lives in our hands- millions of people’s lives- and the only viable solution there was something we only had a few days to study and it got botched somewhere in the process. But they’re still coming, and the best example we have of “good” aliens is a guy thinks it’s totally chill to choke people and acts weirdly similar to his totally psycho brother.” Tony’s voice had progressively gotten softer, words spilling out more like honey than milk every sentence. 

“Okay, Tony. We’ll get another team.”

“Restart innovation work on the Legionaires.”

“After a nap,” Bruce says with a yawn.

“Yeah. After… after a nap.”

 

…

Superhero teams? Definitely easier said than done. Besides, there’s some slightly more urgent shit to see to. Like, forreal. Thor’s not the most important fucker out here.

Tony checks his image in the mirror and makes sure that one frustratingly curly eyebrow hair did not decide to point upward towards his hairline again. God, mascara is amazing, but it only does so much.

The car pulls to a stop, and Tony waits for the driver to come open his door before he slides smoothly out. He takes a moment to smile and be happy. It’s been a long time since his head was as clear as this.

The door he walks up to is a brown one against off white brick in cut-and-paste suburbia. The numbers- 2813- he passes are stencilled neat black paint on the short drive way’s left curb. A box with amazon prime tape sits on the Welcome mat. He knows he’s being watched. There’s a camera directly above the door, in one of the dying potted plants that line the sun warmed pebbledash walk, and on the mailbox. The sprinkler system marks the boundaries of a field meant to stun trespassers. There are automatic guns tucked behind the bricks of the house. 

Tony Stark knocks on the door, then takes a step back, as is only polite. After a moment, the door opens.

“Dr. Foster, it’s been a while,” Tony says from behind his wine red sunglasses.

“Tony. Um. Okay, here’s the deal. You are way to conspicuous,” She says, stepping back to let Tony into the house.

“Laura, darlin’ you there?”

“Tony? Why are you here? And I heard you went into DSS subshock?”

“To make you all a deal, and it’s over now,” Tony says with a winsome smile as as Laura steps in for a hug and the tiniest Barton toddles after her.

“What do you want?”

“What, I can’t come for tea?”

“You hate tea,” Laura says, leaning back with a disbelieving look on her face.

“I don’t hate tea. Sometimes Brucie-bear and I would drink it. Besides, that is not kid-friendly language, Laura. You’re gonna teach the little ones something unfortunate,” he half sings that last word. Laura rolls her eyes.

“Fine, you brat. You strongly dislike tea.” Tony thins his lips and nods his head.

“Fair enough. Actually tea taste like a-”

“CHILDREN!” Darcy screams just as she appears in the entryway. 

“Yeah, Tony, kid-friendly language.”

“Okay, tea tastes like nobody likes me,” Tony says as he gets a hug from Darcy and her wonderful boobs, “which, unsurprisingly, is what most things taste like these days.” Darcy takes his hand and tugs him into their kitchen.

“We like you.”

“Aha! We have beaten the odds, and there is coffee,” Tony says with his hands held out like the world’s greatest showman.

“‘Course there’s coffee. What do you take Jane for? Someone who goes to bed at an acceptable time and stays asleep for eight hours?” Darcy quips from where she’s washing their largest mug. Tony’s the type to want as much as possible, as soon as possible. At least as far as caffeine goes.

“Hmm… not by a long shot. No respectable scientist actually does that shit, because-”

“Children!”

“There’s too much to explore!” Darcy sets the coffee down at one of the several chairs and pushes Tony down into it. At least this time, there isn’t a frantic rush of words which starts with “the Avengers have fallen apart” and ends in “I’m afraid Ross is gonna getcha and it’s time to go”. She’ll give him coffee till he drops, if it keeps him yammering and not frantically trying to recover.

“What’s your invitation?”

“Well, the long and the short of it is that, with the exception of Widow and Captain No Plan and his one armed friend, most of the Avengers were briefly imprisoned following our powwow in Germany before being jailbroken out again.” Jane scratches at the table with one nail, her own coffee cup in front. 

“Of course the esteemed Secretary Ross jumped the gun and instead of taking them to the JCTC-approved prison he locked them up in the RAFT, a place meant to imprison people with superhuman levels of… well, whatever. Kind of endless, what there is, nowadays.” Tony stops to take a drink of his coffee. It’s not how he normally takes it, but it isn’t too sweet, so shit if he cares.

“His reasoning was the JCTC wouldn’t be able to hold them, not with their abilities, but he kinda proved Rogers right,” he says.

“This was all on the news, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but the news is a little picture kinda thing. I’m given you an overview and shit.”

“Next person who cusses gets Nathan’s punishment when he repeats you.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Darcy says to both Tony and Laura  as she takes a seat next to Jane.  Nate wriggles down off his mum’s lap and goes to pat at Darcy’s thigh. 

“Long and short of it is, homeboy is doing years and years and years in prison, making it totally chill if you all took up residence at Stark Tower.”

“Stark Tower.”

“Or the Compound. Depending on what floats your boat. I’m putting a new team together, and you have these weird powers that you have no control of anyways, Jane, and Darcy’s with you, and Laura’s kick ass on her own, so…?” Tony leans forward on his elbows and laces his fingers under his chin. Discreetly, he watches for any ninja move from Laura for the cussing.

“Join me?”

“Tony…” Laura says, and she sounds so sad. Perhaps the punishment will be reserved until later. 

“Don’t say no ‘cause of how it was last time. It won’t be like that, again. I’ll… we’ll do it better. Get better people.”

“What are you talking about?” Jane says, confusion twisting her features as Laura gets up to cut a banana up for Nate.

“I…” Tony runs out of words then. This, this. The “this” of it all has remained unspoken; acknowledged as a whole, but the details never cut open and dragged into the ugly, glaring sun. 

“The team. The way the team acted towards each other.” Laura says softly as Nate begins to make a battlefield out of his banana slices.

“How did the team act, Tony?” Jane says. Tony’s looking down at his cooling coffee.

“Badly. There. I mean. It was like. God. Do we have to?” Suddenly, his makeup seems too obvious, his attitude and posture too much of an act.

“Yeah, Tony. What was it like?” Jane says, with a gentleness to her voice that makes Tony more ashamed than comforted that he had ever been a part of it.

“It was like mean girls. Who’s gonna get Steve Roger’s favor? And it’s always him, too. There were those he trusts and those he didn’t. Me? Nah. Widow? Yeah. And by extension Barton. It was too easy ya know? Everybody… wants to be that guy’s friend.”

“That why you were so against being friends?”

“I don’t do that clique shit.”

“Language.”

“Shizzle. I don’t do that clique shizzle. But it’s not gonna be like that! I’m looking at new people. People whose lives revolve around, uh, getting along. They’ll do it better. No cliques. Just teams.”

“Of course we’re coming with you, Tony,” Jane says, her hand going going to tease at the slim black casing of her suppression collar. Without it, she would not be able to touch a single electronic. And she’s a scientist. The travesty is not lost on her.

“Tower’s kinda empty now, you know. Bruce’s back. I have him going on errands for me. Other than that, though, there’s nobody there. Plenty of space for the rugrats to run around and stuff.”

“Look, Tony, we’re coming with you. If that is really how the team was for you, then I don’t want to see you try again without some kind of support,” Jane says as she reaches out and takes Tony’s hand.

“It was like that for everyone. Bruce was sporadically under fire. Thor just did not understand why he was playing a role different to what he’d had with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Periodically other people would be dancing just to stay in the in crowd, you know?”

“We know, Tony. And as wrong as every single one of you were, if you’re trying to change it now, I’m backing it,” Jane says, determined.

“There’s still something out there. We might live years past today, or we might live months. All I know is that earth is on the celestial map, and there is no Asgard to cast it’s big dumb shadow over us.”

“At this rate, there might not even be Thor,” Jane says, and Tony doesn’t think she’s just talking about Thor’s apparent new job as Asgard’s king. That he got from his brother. Who was apparently making endeavors in the arts and in trade under Odin’s mantle. All this time, people were talking shit about how Loki would be a bad king, and instead, he made a pretty good one.

Jesus, shit is changing.

Shit is changing a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apparently missed the fact that this was supposed to be updated yesterday, not today, so the next update will come wednesday the thirty first, not thursday.   
> As always, i would love to know what you guys think :)


	5. Actions Follow Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes a choice, and becomes the leader the team needs.

Clint Barton… is not a scary dude. Not intimidating. Not all that hot. Not cultured or a specific kind of uncultured. Just average. Ordinary. Forgettable. Boring. Not even in full anger, in total self righteousness, in complete hatred, could Clint take up all the space in the room as any of his teammates found so easy to do. 

Not like Steve, with his ridiculous height and even more ridiculous strength and build. Not like Tony, with his never ending ability to turn it all into a spectacular show, no matter the circumstances and even though he was almost invariably the shortest person in the room if the room was all guys.

Not like Natasha, who people seemed to instinctively understand was more or less water with nothing to hold it for you; unmanageable. Not Wanda, who, despite her painfully slow journey back from the abyss the collar had thrown her into (and now that Clint thinks about it, any suppression collar Tony made wouldn’t have done that), has an eerie, too-calm expression that precedes an invasive use of her powers. 

So why he was taking up all the air, all the light, all the focus, was beyond Steve. People have faced him and pointed fingers before. People have faced him and blatantly disrespected him before. Have faced him and hit him without just cause before. But Clint isn’t doing any of those things that are worse. Instead, he’s just sitting in the chair, one ankle propped up on a knee, folded butterfly knife gripped in one hand.

Steve stops in the doorway, sweat dripping down his face to soak into his shirt.

“Hey, guys.”

“What did Stark offer you at the embassy?” Clint says, voice calm. He’s not even looking aggressive right now. He’s just asking. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve. Before you called me. Before you pulled Wanda from the Compound. What the hell did you say no to at the embassy?”

“Tony wanted me to sign the Accords. He said if I did he could make the last twenty four hours legit.” Sam gives him a blank look. Clint doesn’t even react.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Because it was a trap.”

“Remember when the military tried to confiscate either Wanda or Tony’s suits?” Wanda’s face lights up with the barest hint of interest. Apparently she’s never heard of this before.

“Yes,” Steve says, face lighting up with heat. That had also been a trap. One wriggled out of… by Tony. Clint rubs his thumb ever so slowly against the understated, handsome black and dark grey weave pattern on the grip of his knife.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have any kind of authority in that field, or we might have lost them both.” In a situation like this, Clint would normally be yelling, spitting, pissing vinegar and thorns, and Sam would be mediating, and Wanda would be hiding behind someone, simultaneously afraid to pick a side and too drawn to these people to leave.

But…

“Guys, it’s not like that. Our hands would have been tied. We wouldn’t have been able to go where we need to.”

“No country is required to cart blanche allow any citizen of another country into their borders for any reason. At all. If we were stopped from going ‘where we need to’, that’s their right. That’s part of being a country. That’s part of learning to govern well,” Clint says, voice calm and deadly and not even a little bit shaken by the idea of Steve and co being kept out of places that needed help.

“I’ve never just stood by and let something happen.” Clint thinks back to when they first moved into the Compound. He remembers how the insomnia of Tony Stark became a little less chronic and a little more fear tinged, growing worse by the day, by the hour as he drank monsters and espresso infused coffee by the gallon. Clint had chalked it up as a lab binge as he forced himself through as little sleep as possible. 

It had gone on for weeks, and Clint had been angry about Ultron, and he was compromised because of it. They were all angry about Ultron. It had, in Clint’s mind, explained the emotional outbursts that resulted in things breaking around Tony, sometimes as he held them. And then came the day that Tony had literally collapsed. It was when he woke up screaming in the medical wing, clawing at his chest and eyes and arms that are far more burned than normal that Clint had clued in.

The conversation with Wanda had been short and brutal and furious as Clint charged, logically, sharply, coldly, through every excuse she could give. That had included “Steve said I just need to work on it”. In the end, Wanda had agreed to keep her magic to herself, or risk losing not only her home but also her brother’s last friend. By then, though, Tony had gone, and his resignation, effective immediately, came in the same day Wanda was elevated from refugee to teammate.

Clint retired a week later.

“Except,” Clint says, turning his gaze from Steve to Wanda, “when you do.” Clint gets up, Sam behind him, Wanda trailing after a tiny hesitation, in which she looked to Steve to say something- anything- she hadn’t thought about. To redeem himself, somehow, and, by proxy, redeem her. To make this path an option, not a requirement for what she really wants. Steve says nothing of the kind.

“Where are you guys going?”

“You pulled us out of our lives, thinking we were coming together for family. Instead, you had us turning against family. We’re going to see if anything can be salvaged.” and maybe that’s why Clint is so forgettable. 

Ninety nine percent of the time, the leadership is good, or the team not worth it, or Clint is on his own; he doesn’t need to be noticed, so he’s not. Clint is, after all, a sniper. Attention is a bad thing for him. 

The other one percent, though, is when someone has pulled the rug out from under his feet, when someone has altered his perceptions of the situation like Barney did.  _ It’s not like they need it, buddy _ . So it was okay to take it.  _ They just want to see you suffer, kid _ . So it was okay to ambush them in a dark alley. Then, Clint is the scariest thing in the room, because he has been reduced to his base level.

The sick sense of de ja vu threatens to overwhelm Clint, but he doesn’t stop. He leads his somber band of people out of the room. 

“I’m leaving at dusk.” Just in time for Natasha to rise and pack, if she wishes. They’ve grown apart since she brought down the only place Clint had ever felt at home. They disperse. To pack. To think. For Clint: to write.

As the sun sets, Natasha walks into the livingroom to see their luggage. There’s four bags. She always knew Scott would be the first to run right back. She and Clint don’t talk. They just lock eyes. Natasha knows what’s up. 

Clint leads his solitary band of war criminals right to the doors of the villa and out to the guard post. They aim their guns. Scott had appeared like a wraith to join them, having heard the conversation from the hallway. Clint thinks it was just a long time coming. He sets his butterfly knife down on the ground and holds his hands up, all of them holding white envelopes as they follow suit.

“May I help you?” The Dora Milaje say as they watch, wary.

“Yes. We would like to surrender to the UN. And we would like to mail these letters.”

 

…

 

The police station is a small one in Calcutta. Its floor can’t seem to stay clean, now that the heat and the wind has blown in the dust off the streets. A single solitary receptionist sits bent over his paperwork. The door opens; that’s nothing new. 

“Excuse me.” An american accent. That’s something. The receptionist looks up. Freezes, eyes wide as he springs into action. Four people who don’t belong in India have walked in, spread out, and dropped their bags by their feet. They have raised their hands and showed their faces in the time it takes for the receptionist to look up.

“We surrender,” Clint says, and he does. They do. For the first time in a long time, maybe he’s doing it right.

 

…

 

“Breaking news: Four of the Exvengers were arrested today in Calcutta. Authorities said they walked in with duffel bags containing nothing but clothing and surrendered immediately. It’s uncertain what they want at this time.” Steve watches the TV, alone except for Natasha. He’d hated the oppressive fug of hopelessness that had taken hold of them before he’d gotten back from his run, but he hates the emptiness even more. 

 

…

 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks Natasha. She shrugs her shoulder. 

“I knew.” What she knows, Steve doesn’t ask about. He closes his eyes and rubs fingers over his temples. God, it’s even worse now.

 

… 

 

With shaking fingers, Tony opens the letter, addressed to him, from Clint Barton. He reads it once, twice. Thrice. The words swim in front of his eyes and his head starts to reel. 

 

_ Stark, _

 

_ Look, man, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not checking my information, like any spy and/or sniper knows to. I’m sorry I just stood by while you got shit from everyone and their moms after Ultron; I know what it is to have someone invade your mind. I'm sorry it took you leaving to figure out what was up with you and Wanda. I’m sorry I blamed you for anything and everything during the Civil War. I’m sorry about the crack about Rhodey’s back.  _

_ Thank you for doing your damndest, even when we were all acting like you were just some lazy piece of shit who was lucky to have us. Thank you for working on the Accords ‘cause god knows you’re the only one with the expertise. Thank you for the Compound. It could have been a great home, for you and me both if I had taken the time to make it so. Thank you for putting up with u all. There’s more, I guess, but there’s other subjects to get to. _

_ If that’s all you need, go ahead and stop reading.  _

 

_ But if you wanna know why: I was compromised. I read Natasha’s report and assumed I knew you. I saw how frustrating and difficult you made things for various SHIELD personnel, and assumed that was all there was to see. I… I guess I ain’t been checking my info for a long time, now.  _

_ After SHIELD fell, and you guys were all I had, I shoulda tried seeing shit for what it was instead of keeping on the way I had been, but nothing you did ever made sense to me. Everything about you was unnatural from where I was standing. It was better for me, just to follow Steve and Nat, because everything they did was understandable. They had been SHIELD too. We were alone together. _

_ Then Ultron happened, and it didn’t make any sense. There was a lot of noise, but it seemed obvious that you had taken things a step too far, and I never stopped to question where the thought came from. Like I said. Ain’t been checking shit for a while. I thought it was fine if Steve was mad; you HAD nearly destroyed us all, right? Not really. Not as right as I thought. I shoulda put a stop to that too, because I knew it was inappropriate, the way he came down harder than what was necessary or useful. _

_ I retired over shit that I had chosen not to see before. The day you collapsed from malnourishment and sleep deprivation was the day I realized that your nightmares weren't worse because they had new material. I retired when you did. But it wasn’t because of what Wanda did to you. It was because of what she could do to me.  _

_ I should have done something else; called. Popped by. Something like that. But I didn’t, and I’m gonna regret that for the rest of my life. I’m gonna regret not checking my info, and letting assumptions take the place of confirmations, and leaving my family over something that would have smelled bad IF I had wanted to see it.  _

_ This isn’t an excuse. I guess it’s supposed to help with closure. There ain’t a lot that feels worse than finding yourself alone and struggling without warning, and no clue how you got there. I’m turning myself in. Not gonna call or ask to speak with you, ‘cause, frankly, I deserve whatever they hand out.  _

_ So’s Wanda; I guess she’s sorry, too. Scott’s a follower, you know. I think this hit him harder than anyone else. I got Sam with me to. We’re all gonna turn ourselves in, really. I hope this made something… not better, cause it doesn’t work like that. Easier to think about, I guess. Hope you’re alright, and I hope whatever dom you found is treating you right.  _

 

_ -Clint. _

 

Bruce looks up from where he’s reading his book.

“Take a seat, Tony,” he order, and Tony gets a pillow and sinks into place between Bruce’s knees. He begins to drop as his long time friend and lover scratches fingers gently into his hair, sending him under as his mind thinks back on and digests the contents of the paper. He feels himself going deeper as Bruce’s hands move to rub along his jaw and ear, and he presses slow, soft kisses against Tony. The inventor’s eyes close, and they don’t open again. Bruce keeps up his ministrations until Tony comes back to reality, instantly calmer, and a lot more focused.

“Do I want to read that?” Bruce asks him, voice gentle as he draws Tony up beside him so he can takes his turn being surrounded and protected by someone.

“Yeah.” Bruce picks up the letter, and begins to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think:)


	6. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Avengers get their first gig, and they get some not-so-surprising news.

Lights, camera, fabulous makeup. The shutters and flashes herald Tony’s quick trip up the three steps, across the stage, and into one of the six seats available. He’s in dark purple with a lilac tie with a gold swirling, spiral design taking up half of the lower portion and just barely peeking out from his waistcoat.

Right after that is Stephen Strange in his black on black getup with a wine red tie and matching, shiny shoes. He and Tony look like they stepped out of the same photoshoot, with their well styled haircuts goatees. Hope van Dyne stalks behind him, every inch the CEO in her black a-line and understated gold jewelry. Bruce Banner in his own soft yellow button down and slacks is right behind her.

Pepper, as always, looks lovely in her cream sheath and gold jewelry inset with onyx and her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Tony barely hears their introduction; only the phrase that opens them up to questions.

“Mr. Strange!” The magician points to the hand.

“Dr. Strange, sir.”

“Are you though? A doctor? I mean, rumor has it you were infamous for your tendency to turn away people because you might look bad, and your hands don’t work.” Stephen’s laced fingers do not shake as he lifts a sardonic eyebrow.

“I still have my license, and despite some of my more distasteful habits, I  _ was _ the best neurosurgeon. Currently I do consulting work. So yes, I am still a doctor. Not only that, I did not magically lose my doctorates because I crashed my car. Next question.” Another reporter, this one blonde, continues on in the same vein.

“They say you didn’t want to botch your record; that you would rather not give someone their last chance than do so. If that’s true, how can we trust you to work at sometimes hopeless problems now?”

“It wasn’t my record. I was afraid of failure and afraid of death, both of which I have gone through dozens of time since my car accident. It took an act of true misfortune to get me past my own demons, and now that I am there, I intend to continue on in my current work as Sorcerer Supreme. Next question.”

“If you’re so good at magic, why can’t you just fix your hands? And how can you do magic with hands like those?” Tony wonders if they’re going to continue badgering him until he loses his cool. He bets they will.

“Because magic is not anywhere near that simplistic. Given that we’re talking about an art that transcends the laws of physics, magic does not and should not rely on the physical capabilities of the sorcerer. Next question.” Strange may have disappeared off the face of the earth, but he certainly hasn’t lost any of that shining, glittery stage show. 

“My question is for you Dr. Stark. How do you intend to keep what happened with the Avengers from happening now?”

“I think before I get to the answer we should clarify; Mr. Rogers, Mr. Wilson, Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanov, and Mr. Barton are no longer Avengers. They could get pardoned tomorrow and they still would not be Avengers. The Avengers are sitting at this table. The Ex-Avengers and, to a lesser extent, myself, did not answer to anyone after the fall of SHIELD.

“Truth be told, I believe the original members were all done a disservice by SHIELD, based on their disregard to how we as a team would function after the fact. As such, my answer is two-fold. Everyone you see answers to other people. Must, on a daily basis, work with other people and consider those people’s livelihoods and their worth. Miss van Dyne and myself work for Pym Industries and Stark Industries, respectively. Dr. Strange has pupils and, like any true master of any art, no matter the sort, is still a pupil himself. Dr. Banner chooses to spend his extra time doing extracurricular activities like coming up with new vaccines and easier methods of water purification. 

“Those here today do not forget about the people they work to protect, nor can they because they aren’t cut off from them like those who have chosen to become fugitives were. Next question.”

“Are you saying that the original Avengers  had a disregard for people?”

“Not disregard so much as a disconnect. Next question,” Tony clarifies. There’s a moment of pure, undiluted focus right before things go wrong.

“Mr. Stark, are you aware that a sub leading a bunch of doms and a switch will be problematic?” some blonde wanna-be Christine Everhart calls out. Really, Christine asked questions that made sense.

“I am aware that failure to weigh people based on their abilities rather than their designations lead to problems, yes. Next question,” Tony answers. As much as he was hoping to avoid it, well, now there’s blood in the water.

“How do you intend to deal with the problems your leadership will create?”

“My leadership will not create problems of the designation variety. The rest of them I could make: with responsibility and integrity. Next question,” Tony shoots back.

“Is your inability to yield to Captain Rogers part of the reason why he did not listen during the Civil War?” Asks someone else. Hope is about ready to cut in, but Tony’s always been a fast talker.

“For clarity’s sake Mr. Rogers never completed boot camp, making his actual rank Private Rogers, since we can’t get any lower than that. As for that question Mr. Roger’s inability to think through a problem has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. Next question.”

“But there are reports of your antagonizing him aboard the helicarrier shortly before the Battle of New York. Did this pattern continue?”

“That depends on who you ask. Next question.”

“Why would you think leading the Avengers is a good idea when you can’t even go down properly?” Another man shouts out. He must work for the Daily Bugle. They're always fucking shouting over there.

“Why would you think my private life and personal health are your concern? Get out of here. Security?” the men who had been waiting for a signal from someone move forwards.

“What are you going to do about the Avengers being exiled?” some brunette asks next.

“I’m not. Their actions are their own. I am not responsible for a bunch of people who thought turning themselves into war criminals is a good idea.”

“Are you not the team sub? Why would you abandon them like that?” the same brunette says before Tony can choose someone else.

“I am my own sub, and I don’t aid and abet war criminals.” That’s when the first fuck you comes out of the crowd. 

“Right back at you. You want to get Rogers pardoned or whatever? Contact the UN. Don’t look to me to fix their problems anymore.” Someone throws a glass bottle, but it doesn’t get a chance to shatter on stage before a large, burning orange shield blocks its trajectory.

“Molotov cocktail!” Tony shouts out as he ducks out of his seat. The mandala disappears and reforms as a circle around the second flying projectile. The thing shatters, than explodes. Stephen Strange doesn’t even twitch. 

“Lock down the perimeter. We got hostiles,” Tony orders as he makes his way down the steps and through the crowd. “We’re likely looking for an extremist fan of Cap’s by the way.”

“Yeah. I’m down.”

“You wanna tell my why you aren't suited up?” Strange orders as he, too, scans the crowd.

“Keeping myself a target. Eyes on me, Stranger,” Tony says as he moves through the crowd, trying to keep the scurrying reporters from falling down. A woman trips right in front of him, and he goes to help her, stepping right into the path of a flashing knife.

Just like that, it’s all over. An orange mandala burns in the air  and surrounds the man with the knife. Tony looks towards the stage and nods. Hope materializes behind the man and goes to cuff him. The security sees to the reporters.

 

…

 

Later, when they’ve all got their after-fight beverages, Tony nods his head.

“Very nice, by the way. I mean, I didn’t want our first gig to be not letting me die at your first conference/introduction, but it did show that you three can be competent on your own.” Vision gives as close to a  _ look _ as possible to Tony Stark.

“I dislike your disregard for your own life. Are there many more stunts you intend to pull?”

“Ditto, Tones. That was fucking stupid,” Rhodey says. The rest of the Avengers are nodding. Bruce has got his hand around Tony’s waist. Tony nods in aquiecense and settles back against his friend’s chest.

“No, and I’m sorry, respectively.”

“I think we should ground you,” Darcy says. Jane sits next to her and sinks into her side. Tony’s glad to see those two worked it out.

“Yeah, Tony. We don’t want to bury you.” Tony holds up his hands.

“I won’t anymore. Promise.”

“I’ve got news,” Laura say as she walks into the room and gives Tony a glare. Jesus, is everyone this adverse to him?

“What news?”

“Apparently Clint, Scott, Wanda, and Sam have turned themselves in.”

“Really? Why?” Darcy asks. Tony knows why. Laura shrugs. 

“Don’t know. I’ll keep on the lookout for a reason, though. My guess? They got out to wherever the fuck they’re staying and realized that Steve is a goddamn lie.” Jane sinks further into Darcy’s side as the dom gives her coffee, one wonderful sip at a time.

“Clint apparently had some sort of… mini-elightenment moment. I guess the rest did too,” Tony says after a while. Laura arches an eyebrow.

“Is it the kind of letter I should kick ass over?”

“Nah. First paragraph was an apology, second was a thank you, and the rest was for closure. Man didn’t make me want to punch him for an entire page. Whadaya know.”

“You thinkin’ about intervening?” Darcy asks. One of the little rugrats darts into the room and climbs up into Tony’s lap.

“You scared momma!”

“I’m sorry, baby girl. Not used to it mattering. But I’ll do better, yeah?” Tony turns his attention back to the adults as Lila picks at the flowers on her smock. Lila apparently decides that her seat is comfortable because she leans back against Tony.

“I dunno. On the one hand things one, two, and three need the cat in the hat. On the other hand, I’m feeling bitter.” Rhodey shrugs his shoulders. Tony likes how he effortlessly switches to code.

“I got a letter from Sam,” Rhodey continues, “I think they’re genuine. Besides, he said Steve twisted the situation.”

“To look, what, worse?”

“Yeah. Played up your role and what not. Makes sense, now that we know that.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Tony murmurs as he looks down at Bruce’s hand on his waist. The man was not perfect. He could be a shitty friend and an even shittier ally, and Tony forgives him. Forgave him when he said that he had in fact, stayed wide awake the night Tony told him about the Mandarin and that he’d been afraid of the closeness.

Tony could be shitty too. There’s a reason he and Pepper are no longer together, and it isn’t because they’re just “incompatible”. It has more to do with his unwillingness to do what needs to be done, when it comes to his own head. It has more to do with the fact that she just couldn’t meet the ridiculous level of effort it took to keep him steady, let alone thriving. 

“I think that we all do strange things, when misinformation plays a role,” Tony says. He’s thinking about Bucky. About blowing his arm off. He’s thinking about Steve, not caring. Not caring about him enough to tell him, so that he would continue to fund his search for his friend. What did he tell Sam, to have the sub follow? What did he tell Clint, to have him break into the Compound?

If they are all in the same boat in this, and they have come to see it, then maybe the old team is not as much as a complete failure than Tony thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was only one problem, and that happened to be the strongest dom in the room.

“All this cuddling is making me sleepy. Is that good, baby?” Tony says to Lila. “I feel like it’s nap time. Bruce? Are you even awake?” Tony sends Ross, the younger, a text. If he’s gonna get something rolling, it needs to be now.

“Hmm,” Bruce murmurs as he tugs a little on Tony’s waist and goes back to his nap. Tony glances at where Laura has settled with Nate, and where Jane’s fallen asleep in Darcy’s gentle hold, and where Rhodey is handing a blanket to Hope and the cloak has gone into blanket mode over Stephen where the other man is relaxed back into a recliner. Tony lets his eyes close as his breathing starts to even out.

He’s not used to this, no. He’s not used to curbing his language or being in the mood to play so much or being faced with people who are concerned for Tony because of Tony himself, and not what he can do. He isn’t used to apologies. He never did invite them. They were always too fake to trust.

He’s used to people looking at him and Bruce and whispering the words unnatural to each other and sometimes saying them to him. He’s used to today’s bullshit, with the press conference idiot asking how he’s supposed to function as the leader of a team full of doms. He’s used to being second string unless he forced his way into first.

He’s used to this constant anxiety that hangs over his head. He’s used to all these questions. What will happen between Laura and Clint? Is Darcy who Jane is going to keep? What happens when Thor realizes that the good Captain is out of favor? Will the kids forgive their father? Will Clint be angry with Tony if he butts his head into his business? Will Cassie and her mom take the invitation to move into Stark Tower? How will schooling work at the end of the summer?

This, though? This familial shit they got going in the first month or so that they didn’t achieve in the six years before the Civil War? This place where he doesn’t feel the need to stave off a drop or his sleep because it’s just that safe? Tony could get used to this.

He knows a good thing when he sees it, and this time, he’s going to work to keep it. His phone lights up with a text from Ross.

 

You realize they were just as responsible? -ER

 

Yes. But the PR that can be gained from some of the old Avengers coming to their senses will be gold. Especially Maximoff. Contriteness and change can convince people that extreme measures may not be needed, if even the cause behind Johannesburg can be rehabilitated. -TS

 

That’s fair. You realize Maximoff will need a shitton of PR? -ER

 

I have an idea for that. She doesn’t have to be an avenger. She just needs to be on the path to something okay. It can help with the mutant hysteria that’s been building -TS

 

Fine. I’ll see you monday for details? -ER

 

Yes. Gn. -TS

 

Tony locks his phone and closes his eyes, basking in the closeness of his new family. Maybe, someday, when these things don’t hurt anymore, when the sting wears off and it’s just them, moving on, maybe he can have parts of his old ones, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed work (yay!). As always comments and constructive criticism are welcome. Also, I've never written dom/sub anything, so let me know how you guys feel about it:)


End file.
